A Little Maybe
by Unique Sandwich
Summary: Kamui goes for a walk to feed the birds that live by Kotori's tree, and meets someone unexpected.


**A Little Maybe**  
by Kelsey   
  
Disclaimer: If I owned the X manga, it would turn out SO differently. :P   
  
Notes: Already posted on the fxk LJ community, but figured I'd share it with the board. :3 Rather weird, perhaps disjointed, as I had three paragraphs written last week and then had no idea where to go with it. Finished it last night for the temps_mort challenge involving food. Begun because I wanted to get in touch with my inner Kamui. Turned out to be cute. Why does almost everything I touch turn out that way? ^^;;   
  
  
--   
  
  
The might-have-been was a formless beast with fangs like needles, and it sank them into him on cold nights and warm mornings alike. A twinge, an unexpected injection of poisonous memory, and finally a tearing of the soul, with his heartbeat in his ears thrumming out _might-have-been, might-have-been. _  
  
There were so many might-have-beens.   
  
He used to think of it as a game, like turning over rocks to see what was underneath. Most people expected bugs, and got them. People like him expected fabulous treasure, and were often disappointed.   
  
_"Kamui, why did you do that? You might've been killed!"   
  
"But I might have been able to fly, I **might** have!" _  
  
As he remembered, he scraped both knees that day and sprained his wrist after jumping from the top of the jungle gym. He'd cried at the pain and clung to Fuuma's hand and felt terrible for making Kotori cry, but he wasn't sorry for trying. Who knows what could have been, after all!   
  
Who indeed?   
  
Kamui turned over the question in his mind, then let it go in favor of contemplating the shifting green-gold light that slid through the leaves and made the grass glow. CLAMP Campus had many places of quiet beauty, many places where the light was never the same no matter how many long walks he needed. A bee hummed by, headed for lands and blossoms unknown, and Kamui smiled.   
  
Kotori's tree stretched branches serene and graceful, casting pools of deep green shadow. Kamui waited for one of the friendly little birds to land on his shoulder -- he had sandwiches to share, today -- but none came. Maybe they were resting in the noontime heat. Kamui chewed a sandwich slowly, tasting the ingredients, not only the food but everything else that went into the making, Yuzuriha's smiles and laughter and the occasional bright long look between Sorata and Arashi. He liked those simple domestic tasks, shared between -- well, what were they? Not just fellow Seals; mere allies did not help you with your homework or insist on carrying your books when your arms were hurt or make you cookies "just because." Friends?   
  
Friends.   
  
The matter decided, he let it go and for the first time he noticed the figure standing quiet and tall under Kotori's tree. His footsteps stilled but his heart knocked louder to compensate, and suddenly he knew where all the birds had gone. They'd found a new perch.   
  
A tiny white bird stood on the great bronzed expanse of a palm, cheeping softly at the bird above it, that one perched on a broad shoulder. Hands that hurt attached to arms that held, a paradox measured in a span of only a few feet. But now one hand was gentle, and Fuuma, fixing Kamui with a drowsy amber gaze, held one finger to his lips as if to say, Shh, mustn't disturb the birds.   
  
Mustn't disturb the birds.   
  
Kamui's fingers loosed their hold on the sandwich crusts, and the breeze plucked up the crumbs and tossed them over the ground. Sunstreaks danced over leaves, and he stood statue still, wanting to move and yet not wanting to. This moment was feather-fragile, as easily frightened away as one of the birds. What was he doing here? Did he remember Kotori at all? He looked so peaceful... was he back to himself? Maybe... Maybe... Maybe...   
  
A maybe is an insidious beast, moreso than a might-have-been.   
  
_Maybe I won't get hurt this time. _  
  
He took a step forward.   
  
_Maybe it doesn't matter, even if I do. _  
  
Another step, eyes locked onto Fuuma's, though he couldn't read what lay in that stare. He'd never been good with guessing others' thoughts; he had enough trouble with his own, even with Sorata's heart-to-hearts and Subaru's simple ability to understand. But he saw no smirk tug the other's lips upwards, felt no crackling of power. The bird in Fuuma's hand cocked its head, fixing bright eyes on Kamui.   
  
_Maybe it doesn't matter... because it's him. _  
  
He closed the distance, shifting the remainder of the sandwich crumbs to one hand as he went, the mundane concern helping to distract from the doubts crisscrossing his mind. There were other maybes, too, maybes that took vicious bites out of hope and love, bites that bled long and hard, healed slowly, so slowly. More direct than his kind of maybe, but perhaps less painful in the long run.   
  
But, after all's said and done, not his kind of maybe.   
  
One small white hand with a thin white scar, holding soft brown breadcrumbs. The bird fluttered from Fuuma's hand to Kamui's, and he gave a tremulous smile to the other boy as if to say, See, maybe we can just _be_ when we share a space.   
  
A finger traced the line of his cheek, and Kamui closed his eyes, prepared to take the pain if it came. To accept it freely, if it would help him get Fuuma back. If it could help him understand _why_ Fuuma would do all this, become his opposite and try to destroy humanity. He just wanted to understand, but maybe, for now, just his company, his touch, were enough.   
  
The kiss didn't seem to have a beginning; one sun-flecked second melted into another and Kamui heard the wingbeats of the little birds fluttering back to the trees. The warmth soaked into his bones and thoughts drifted through his mind like clouds, fleeting and hazy, fleecy around the edges. He wondered how his body could contain the beating of his heart. How Fuuma's arms could contain the whole of his world. How this little space of earth could contain the current of sheer feeling running between them. Because they were both Kamui, did the Earth and stars sing, resonant with their emotions? He thought he could hear music.   
  
They separated, and Kamui was forced to extend the sphere of his world beyond that small, comfortable space in Fuuma's embrace. He looked down, then back up, only able to manage one word: "Why?"   
  
The other boy mulled over the question, and Kamui could tell he was arranging and rearranging words in his head, ascertaining that he had the most exact ones. Fuuma was like that, quiet but so well-spoken whenever he said anything.   
  
"Because," he said at last, "I keep a few of my minutes, like spare change, to be only myself."   
  
Kamui understood then, understood all too well the desire to cast aside all names and titles and be just a boy in a park, a boy feeding the birds, a boy in love. No labels. Just the sky and the trees and, just maybe, another person that was also just a person.   
  
And maybe, with moments like this, things could be all right after all.  
  
  



End file.
